Thursday, August 21, 2008

You'll be still in bed, teeth bloody, lids taut over the contours of your peeled-egg eyes and you'll get that falling feeling you sometimes get when you are still in bed and your body forgets about itself. Miles will rush vertically past your ears. Your fingernails will trowel.You will tell yourself nothing has happened, just your brain losing its equilibrium for a second, but you will feel displaced, hanging floating somewhere in between your bed and the floor, and you will remember suddenly sixth-grade insomnia,imagining you could feel the world turning beneath you, great gears grinding.

Time zones away, people will be swimming, going to movies, mugging each other.And you will be here, uneasy on your square feet of earth, and what if gravity will forget about itself and you and the lava malt beneath the surface of it all will become one?

Monday, August 18, 2008

Shimmers spooled, a tumblefog March.Koi cues in Jews' pockets, collars starched,tulips a-bobbling:which winner is mobbingdawn-dozers hosed in dew, chlorophyll wobblingto claim potent, pregnantwealth lumping out of its bed,run down by a too-oiled head,eeling at middle age, not deadyet, but its spawn will be fire-red ants?